


Old Enemies

by atminiature



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Hydra (Marvel), Hydra Agent Reader (Marvel), Mission Fic, Missions, Protective Bucky Barnes, Rescue Missions, Romance, Romantic Fluff, SHIELD, SHIELD Agent Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-28 05:14:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18749725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atminiature/pseuds/atminiature
Summary: Bucky tracks his old Hydra-collegue down to the forests of Siberia and tries to convince her to break free and come with him to New York.





	Old Enemies

_My thigh is itching_ , is my first thought as I open my eyes.

Daylight reflected off fields and pine trees covered with fresh snow blinds my eyes. From where I am laying I can only see blue sky and treetops through the window. Ice crystals in the corners of the pane swims in and out of focus. I sit up slowly and stay hunched at the edge of the bed until the floor under my feet stops tilting. The last thing I remember is skiing through the woods – leaving, with as little fuzz as possible, the base for just another job. Siberia was quiet, the air felt crisp and billowed out of my breath like cotton, and then I think I must have grazed a branch? Or did I stumble into something? I automatically reach for my right leg to ease the awful tingling.

A noise from the outside pulls me back to here and now, and I jerk my head up towards the empty window. In front of it there is a small, rustic table with worn, mismatched chairs placed around it. An object placed in the middle of the knitted tablecloth gleams in the sunlight. I hold my breath and slowly rise up from the bed – my legs are trembling a bit. I grab the backrest of the closest chair to support myself, since my legs are not doing the work themselves, and glance towards the table. It is a revolver.

I instinctively feel my throat tighten at the sight of someone else’s gun and I feel with my hands along my hips and thighs, the way normal people look for their cell phones. I was on a mission, and I do not even go grocery shopping unarmed. I force the dizziness away, like this is just a night out and I still have a couple of glasses of wine to go before I’m out of control, and look around properly for the first time, and find that I must be in some sort of log cabin. The walls and floor are rough and I can see the beams in the ceiling, which have bundles of dried sage and lavender hanging from it. Weaved carpets in red, green and yellow are covering the floor underneath the table, that seems to be a dining table, and the bed I thought I woke up on is more like an old fashioned, deep, sofa covered by a patchwork. It is no place for someone like me – this looks more like grandma’s summer place.

The noise from outside is back; it sounds like chunks of wood falling from a height. I grab the revolver and hunch down an inch as I try to spy out the window. I shrink into the wall and gaze over the ledge to get a better view. Trees and a field, but there are footprints in the snow right outside. Everything seems to be quiet again, so I jerk the gun in my hands slightly. It feels too light. Without taking my eyes off the window, I open up the chamber. An empty space is mockingly staring up on me.

Two heavy footsteps on what must be a porch outside the cabin – heavy boots stomping on a hollow ground.

I stay down, virtually hiding under the table, the revolver still awkwardly resting in my hand – I turn it around in my hand so I at least can use it to smash in my captor’s skull.

There are three slow knocks and a bored voice calling out my name. I rise so quickly from my place on the floor that I hit my head on the edge of the table top above me. At the same time as my head hits the board, the door swings open and a scream that is way too high pitched to match with the voice who called out my name earlier cuts through grandma’s skiing resort-cottage.

He looks exactly the same, but his eyes are warmer now. _He cannot say that about me_. I feel like I should be upset, but the feeling will not come to me. “What are you doing here?” Instead of rising to my feet I give in to the remains of whatever drug that is still whispering to my libs that they should not – at all – feel like doing anything just yet, slump down to the floor with my back against the wall, and await his response.

“I am off duty,” he replies simply, almost succeeding to hide his stupid grin.

“So you decided to see some old friends?” I raise my eyebrows.

“Old enemies.”

“Ha. Ha.”

“I did less planning breaking into HYDRAS alp-fortress last year, honestly. You are not an easy person to get in touch with.”

“No-one is supposed to get in touch with me.”

“That’s a shame, really. Don’t you ever feel like there is more to life than HYDRA?” His manors change within a heartbeat. His posture freezes and he his eyes become glued to mine. This is why he came here. James Barnes never had a poker face.

“Even if I hypothetically did, I would have nowhere to go, except prison,” I state dryly. “I am happy with my situation, _thank_ you.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Can I leave now? I don’t have time for this. I am, unlike you, _on_ duty.”

He changes from concerned and put together to nervous in two seconds. His hands find their way to the waist of his trousers and start drumming irregularly. “I… I don’t know how to say this, but you might be too late for that anyways.”

“What do you mean by that?” I snort.

“You’ve been asleep for twenty-four hours,” he mumbles, not quite looking at me.

I only blink at him for a couple of seconds, and before I can open my mouth in pure rage, he speaks again.

“Have you lost weight lately? Something went wrong with the dosage. I didn’t mean to keep you more than a few hours, but I even had to go and chop some more logs while you were out cold.”

I just stare at him. “Do you have any _idea_ of the _shit_ you’ve _fucked up_?”

“I’ll help you get your mission done in time, even if you choose not to come with me.”

“You better.” I almost scream, “I don’t fail missions, I am a professional-”

“Professional _what_?” He cuts off harshly. “Pawn?”

The air between us grows cold. I shake my head and carefully start to rise of my position on the floor to walk around him, out the door, but the arm he extends to support me when my legs collapse pushes me down in the chair instead. “If you think I am just going to stand here and watch you ruin your life, you’re wrong.”

“Where are we?” I hiss embarrassed, ignoring his weak attempts to talk sense into me.

“In the forest,” he states dumbly, grinning.

“You dense, fucking-”

“We’re _deep_ in the forest. We don’t even have electricity.” His smile grows wider.

“Yeah, we better be really fucking deep in the forest when they come looking for me,” I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air. “Tell me we’re still in Russia at least?”

“Yeah,” he nods, the look of concern sneaking its way back into his face. “When’s your deadline?”

“I had three days, and apparently I’m going to throw away two of them.”

He grows silent and looks out the window, supporting his hunched posture on the back of the chair. His eyes reflect he sun and the light blue sky, and I almost remember why I fell in love with him once. “What is the mission?” He asks.

“Like I’d tell you,” I reply softly.

“Well, if you don’t tell me I can’t help you,” he says through gritted teeth.

“You’re retired from this. You’re not going to help me,” I shrug.

“But you said-” he shifts his gaze to me, sounding as sincere as ever.

“-Yeah, yeah, I was just mad. You’re a dick, but I’m not letting you help, simple as that,” I shake my head. “I’m in trouble but I’m not dead.”

“Yet”, he breathes out. I do not know if I am actually hearing the word or reading it on his lips.

Neither of us is breaking eye-contact, as if a staring contest would solve our deadlock. He is the first to look away, blinking a few times to get rid of the sting.

“How did you get me?”

“What?” He frowns with his head adorably tilted slightly to the side.

“Was it an injection? Poison arrow?” I rub my thigh, “You didn’t just hit me in the head, that’s for sure.”

“Ahh,” he lets out a short laugh, “An injection stuck to an arrow, I guess. You’re heavy, by the way.”

“I’m all muscle,” I smirk.

I cross my arms over my chest and shiver slightly. I have not changed clothes since I skied through the woods and I am damp right through. “Do we have water?” I ask as I start marching through the small cottage, trusting my legs to do their work.

Bucky moves towards the door in a defensive stance, but I ignore him, I am not going outside.

“Yeah, why?”

“I’m taking a shower,” I proclaim, “I don’t care if I will have to heat up the water over the fireplace-”

“No need to,” he interrupts, “there is a boiler outside – we have 20 litres. Save some for me.”

“Lovely. See you in ten.”

“If you drop your clothes outside the door I can hang them in front of the fireplace.”

“Thanks,” I say sincerely.

“Remember what you touch, I am not here legally, the family is only using it on holidays. I do not plan on leaving any traces,” he shouts after me as I close the door.

I stand in the shower until I feel cold water raining down on me. Then I step out. The feeling of damp, rough-cut wood under my wet feet is new, but pleasant, and so is the smell. I sit back down on the sofa in front of the dining table and and wait.

“Thanks a lot,” Bucky mutters a moment later, sticking out his head from the bathroom.

“Just wanted to see if you were lying and we really are in the armpit of the Russian wildwood. Sorry,” I add, without sounding very sorry.

“I _despise_ you,” he yells without sounding very angry.


End file.
